


August 14, 2012

by orphan_account



Series: Meek 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has <i>Dean Winchester</i> underneath him, all but pleading for him, and he’s taking this opportunity to debate why this hasn’t been done before. He can worry out the conundrums of this situation later.</p><p>(Castiel's point of view of his first time with Dean.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	August 14, 2012

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this self-indulgent angst/porn
> 
> beta'd, as usual, by periodicallyintrigued who is a saint and deserves Chipotle for all her hard work

Dean is going off about something again. Cas is pretty sure it’s about drugs this time, but he isn’t really paying attention so he can’t be held accountable if he’s wrong.

It’s a shame, really. It’s Cas’ favorite type of day, where the sun is oppressing and the heat feels _heavy_ on his skin. He’s drunk enough to feel light and blurred on the edges, but he has enough presence of mind to not do anything too stupid. The silence has a presence and it’s easy as breathing to feel alive and _right_.

Unless, of course, Dean is ranting. Which he is. So Castiel does the only thing he knows that will silence him.

Dean is caught entirely off guard, so his mouth is still hanging open and Cas barely catches his bottom lip. Still, Dean is sweet and soft beneath Cas’ chapped lips and he has to remind himself not to linger.

“The quiet is heavenly,” he says. He can’t quite force himself to meet what is surely a furious gaze coming from Dean. “It was such a shame to soil it with your needless anger.” He braces himself for the inevitable lecture that will follow.

There is no way he could be prepared for two calloused hands to roughly cup his cheeks and yank him in for another kiss.

Dean moves his lips like this is a fight, a battle for dominance. Cas still isn’t sure that this is real so he kisses back uncertainly. His mind races, trying to think of an explanation, any explanation, for what appears to be happening to him right now.

Cas has made it abundantly clear that there was nothing more important to him than Dean, and he had never gotten in return any encouragement or even the barest of reactions. Cas has all but given up—

Dean breaks away then, panting, and Cas is grateful because the absence of contact makes it easier to concentrate on determining what sort of drug-induced dream this is. _Maybe Dean was right_ , he thinks, _and there was something in that drink_ , but that doesn’t seem right to him. He tries to catch Dean’s eye, desperate for some kind of insight into what exactly brought this on, but he won’t look at Cas. Instead, those inexorably strong hands are back, pulling Cas into his warm lap.

Cas tries to make himself more comfortable by straddling Dean’s legs, but before he can completely settle, there’s a fist in his hair and Dean forces him to bear his neck. Not that Castiel objects to this position in the least, but he’s finding it hard to focus on anything that isn’t the movements of the muscles in Dean’s thighs below him, which, surprisingly enough, is a problem. _Was this legitimately all it took?_ He wonders, _Just a simple kiss? Had I known—_

That train of thought derails violently when Dean attacks his now-exposed throat with kisses. Each separate press of Dean’s lips feels like a prayer, begging Castiel to respond. Even as his hands squeeze Dean’s waist, Cas wants to ask Dean to stop being unbearably desirable for just a moment; he’s having a crisis. Dean has no time for Cas’ debates with himself, as is clearly demonstrated by the way he pulls Cas tight against him.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cas gasps out and then snaps his mouth shut, surprised. He can’t remember ever making a noise like that. The tips of Dean’s fingers graze the skin on Cas’ lower back just as he realizes he is being a complete moron. He has _Dean Winchester_ underneath him, all but pleading for him, and he’s taking this opportunity to debate why this hasn’t been done before. He can worry out the conundrums of this situation later. For the time being…

Cas pushes into Dean, pressing their hips together with just enough pressure that it’s on the edge of perfection. There’s one glorious moment where they’re leaning together, but Dean ruins that by abruptly falling backward. There’s a sharp pain in Cas’ jaw as their mouths slam together but that’s nothing compared to his shock at what just occurred.

Dean— _his_ Dean, Dean “I can have a woman screaming my name in ten seconds flat” Winchester—is sprawled underneath Cas, clutching his jaw with his face contorted in pain. It’s all just so awkwardly prepubescent that Cas simply cannot help the laugh bubbling up inside him.

“Hey.” He hears Dean say, “Stop that,” but that only adds fuel to the flame. Basically since Cas had first set foot on this planet, he has placed Dean on a pedestal of sexual prowess. There were so many times when he was nervous or unsure in sex so he would inevitably ask himself what Dean would have done. And isn’t it just _fitting_ that Dean isn’t the sex god that Cas made him out to be? After all, one would think that Cas would learn not to trust his assumptions about humanity after all this time.

He catches Dean’s eye then and sees the sincere hurt in them. It’s enough to send a lightning rod of guilt through him, so he tries to contain his laughter. He reminds himself that this is his second strike and he’s pretty sure that three strikes means blue balls until hell freezes over—or longer than that, actually, because there is a high chance that hell is frosty cold—so he adopts the most serious face possible for him.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?” He thinks he sounds sincere enough, but Dean does not, if his scowl has anything to say about the matter.

“Fuck off.”

Cas nearly smiles. This could be fun. Taking complete advantage of the fact that Dean has not moved from where he fell, Cas crawls until his hands are on either side of Dean’s face and their chests are just barely touching. Still, he can feel the pounding of Dean’s heart and that’s encouraging.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. His eyes flick down to Dean’s lips and he moves so it’s almost, _almost_ a kiss, but not quite. He continues, “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Dean makes a frustrated noise beneath him and tries to push up against Cas. Now, that does wonders for Cas’ self-esteem, but he’s not quite finished with what he has planned, so he pins Dean down by his shoulders easily. He may not be an angel anymore, but he’s been training and his strength rivals Dean’s now.

“That’s a yes or no question.” He kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth gently and very nearly caves when Dean exhales noisily against his skin. Instead he brushes gently all the way from Dean’s jaw to his throat, relishing the tiny movements that Dean probably isn’t even aware he’s making. “That wasn’t nice of me and I’m very, very sorry. So. Do you forgive me?” He stretches out the words, loving the way his lips feel against Dean’s Adam’s apple.

“Yes,” Dean forces out and Cas thinks that that voice might be the death of him. “Yea—fuck. Yeah. Sure.” Any semblance of self-control is out of the metaphorical window and Cas dives in so he can actually kiss Dean. He threads his hands through Dean’s hair, privately enjoying that it really is as soft as he thought it would be. Dean is equally pleased by this turn of events, if the way he’s swiping his tongue against Cas’ bottom lip is any indication.

Cas slips his leg in between Dean’s and a thrill runs through him when Dean rocks against Cas’ thigh. Cas works with the movement, rolling his hips for Dean, and soon their kisses aren’t exactly kisses as much as panting hotly against each other’s lips.

Not that this isn’t glorious, but Cas’ hands are already roving, hoping to hustle everything along. His fingertips dance across Dean’s shoulders, tug on the worn army surplus jacket, press against the stomach where slight pudge from too many diner burgers are a distant memory. Cas is seconds away from dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of Dean’s jeans when he freezes.

Cas has never done anything with anyone without their complete and enthusiastic consent, and while Dean doesn’t exactly seem to be complaining, Cas can’t shake the feeling that this is too good to be true. Dean notices Cas’ sudden absence of movement and their eyes connect. There’s an unmistakable lust in Dean’s eyes. Cas tells himself that it doesn’t hurt that that’s all there is. He shakes that thought off with the nod that Dean gives him. There’s no need for further clarification; Dean and Cas’ wordless communication was perfected years ago.

Cas nearly flinches when Dean’s hand strokes his jaw but manages to hold it in. The touch is gentle and Cas wants to lean into it and close his eyes, but he was just given permission to undress Dean Winchester, so he prioritizes.

Cas slides his hand down so he can palm at the bulge in Dean’s jeans. The instant his fingers brush against the denim, Dean gasps against Cas’ lips. When Cas is able to silence Dean simply by popping open the button on his jeans, Cas honestly can’t help the growing grin on his face. Dean always has something biting or witty to say, so being able to reduce him to this is indescribable.

Cas thanks his lucky stars (he _hates_ that saying, but what (Who)else is there to thank?) that Dean chose not to wear a belt today, so he can stuff his hands into Dean’s waistband and slide everything down in one easy go.

“Cas,” Dean says, sounding strangled. Cas glances up as Dean adjusts himself so he can see what what Cas is doing.

“Shut up,” Cas tells him and realizes it doesn’t sound like an admonishment when he says it like that. He turns his attention to Dean’s hips and presses his thumbs into the freckles there, slowly rubbing circles on his skin. There’s something that feels wrong about this: his fingernails are chipped and dirt is caked underneath them, and he knows that the callouses cannot feel comfortable against the soft skin there. Dean is not perfect—Castiel knows that more than anyone—but he cannot help but feel inadequate. Cas shakes his head minutely to clear the thought. There is a time for sex and there is a time for introspection, and the two of them rarely collide.

To pull himself out of the reverie, Cas reaches over and loosely grips Dean’s cock, only applying the barest bit of pressure. Dean’s hips twitch in a way that Cas is almost positive he’s unaware of. That, however, isn’t nearly as satisfying as Dean’s mangled groan. Cas can’t help but to grin at Dean who, in turn, flushes a deep red.

“Not—ah—not one word.” Dean already sounds desperate and Cas has barely even started. _This is going to be fun_ , he thinks wickedly.  He leans forward to see if he can discover if Dean’s face is as warm as his blush implies it is, kissing him sweetly while jerking Dean off with the barest effort.

Dean breaks the kiss effortlessly by just falling backwards until he’s splayed out on the ground. Cas watches every twitch of his jaw, the way he gnaws at his bottom lip, drinking it all in thirstily.

Cas is suddenly struck by the insane desire to wrap his lips around Dean’s cock, which is, of course, exceedingly ridiculous because Cas doesn’t like giving blowjobs in the first place—just never really been his thing. But he thinks there’s something he’d love about pressing the flat of his tongue to the underside of Dean’s dick and feeling Dean’s hands tangle in his hair, too desperate to care about being rough.

He’s about to press his lips around Dean’s hipbone to gauge the reaction, but just then, Dean makes this utterly _wrecked_ noise and Cas figures that what he’s doing is good enough for now and picks up his speed. Dean is practically writhing underneath Cas, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say that Dean was seconds from finishing.

“C’mon Dean,” Cas hisses and scrambles to grope at Dean’s ass, “You’re doing so well. For me, Dean, c’mon. Just like that.” Dean cries out suddenly and he is coming all over the damn trench coat and the worn t-shirt Cas threw on underneath. For a moment, Cas just hovers in utter disbelief.

Dean’s eyes are screwed shut still and he just lies there on the ground, completely spent. Now that Dean is taken care of, Cas can’t hold himself back anymore and he presses himself to Dean’s side, rutting against the hard muscle there.

( _For a second, just a second, Cas thinks he heard Dean shout his name. He pushes that fantasy deeper with every shallow thrust of his hips.)_

Cas follows soon after Dean and for a moment he’s disappointed in himself. Enough women have complimented him on it, so he _knows_ he has stellar stamina. But then he figures that approximately half a decade of emotional foreplay is more than enough explanation for his quick orgasm so he’s satisfied.

Sex is fantastic and incredible and probably the best things about humanity (right after their tenacity as a whole and glow-in-the-dark condoms), but Cas would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the post-coitus cuddles almost as much as the act itself. He wraps his arm easily around Dean’s hips and presses his face to the cloth covering the small of Dean’s back. _Next time_ , he promises himself, _Next time, I’ll take the time to do this properly._ He can picture Dean in his bed already, and wonders how soon is too soon to proposition another round of sex.

Dean pulls unexpectedly out of Cas’ grip and he makes no move to stop him because there’s a wild second where Cas thinks that his train of thought has linked up with Dean’s. He realizes with dawning horror, however, that Dean is studiously not making eye contact with him as he pulls up and re-zips his pants.

Cas nearly calls out for Dean to wait, but he is gone before Cas can even form the words. But it’s for the best, isn’t it, because what exactly would Cas say?

Cas stares at his hands, burning with an inexplicable humiliation and trembling in the midday sun. He reminds himself that there’s nothing wrong with one-night stands and it’s not like what they just did had been the result of a grand overture of feelings. Cas _knows_ , he truly does, but he’s having a hard time processing right now. He stands slowly and picks up his discarded bottle from earlier. It’s empty.

“I could use a drink right now,” he says to nobody in particular. He looks from the bottle to the sky and starts laughing so hard that tears well up in his eyes because _God_ , couldn’t everyone?


End file.
